


What Good Does Patience Do?

by Enelii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, I promise, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sign Language, Slow Burn, The beta even warns for angst, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enelii/pseuds/Enelii
Summary: Washington’s life was pretty dull, being honest. For the four years he’d lived in his apartment complex, his days were just smudges of grey; easily trudged through and half-forgotten. He didn’t mind all that much, though. With all the difficulties he faced just because of himself, he was glad life decided to give him as little resistance in the outside world as possible.Tucker’s life was pretty good, being honest. He loved his kid, had people (assholes) who looked out for him, kept him company, and helped him all they could when he faced difficulties. His wheelchair wasn’t that big of an issue, in his opinion, it’s just when society made it a big deal that it got annoying, you know?(aka Tuckington domestic AU where Tucker is in a wheelchair, and Wash doesn’t stop having problems)[should update again soon!]





	1. All good things start with pasta

Washington’s life was pretty dull, being honest. For the four years he’d lived in his apartment complex, his days were just smudges of grey; easily trudged through and half-forgotten. 

He didn’t mind all that much, though. With all the difficulties he faced just because of himself, he was glad life decided to give him as little resistance in the outside world as possible. 

Even his shitty job wasn’t all that bad. For all the work he had to do, Wash decided being a postman was seriously underrated. He didn’t have to talk to people all that much, the pay wasn’t bad, and it just gave him something to do. The exercise was an added bonus for him, too.

It was an early January Saturday, and Wash had already done his morning mail rounds. With his shoes off, and coat and bag hung up, he was about to lounge on his couch when he felt something brush against his legs.

“Hey, Snickers, what’s up buddy?” He said as he sat and perched himself on the edge of the seat cushion. 

Large yellow eyes with a tint of green stared up at him, and with an appropriate response of “meow”, Wash gently scratched behind his cat’s ear.

Leaning back, Wash expected a weight to be applied to his lap, as per usual, but Snickers stayed on the floor. Peering down, he found Snickers was still staring at him, who then started softly mewling.

Wash sighed; “Of course there’s no cat food. How do you eat it all so quickly? I got the large pack this time and everything.”

Snickers continued to look up at Wash expectantly.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go and buy some; but you realise it’s not lunchtime yet, right?”

As Wash stiffly stood up, Snickers turned around and walked away, tail in the air, satisfied Wash knew what he had to do.

“That cat is such high maintenance, I swear to god,” Wash grumbled as he shrugged on his coat and jingled his keys in his pocket, ensuring they were there. He also grabbed the music player Carolina got him as a gift, with the earphones wrapped neatly around it to avoid tangles and annoyance.

He plugged in his earphones, and put all his music in a randomly generated playlist as he mindlessly stepped down the stairs and out of his apartment complex. He thought he should enjoy this walk, as he had felt a sense of rush this morning to finish his rounds.

Wash knew what store he was going to, but didn’t really remember its name or brand-cues. His brain didn’t need to remember the specific names for his preferred stores, all he knew was which store was most cost-effective in his desired areas, and the most efficient way to walk there.

Once he was out of the complex, Wash allowed his legs to start walking towards the large store that sold those those god-awful muffins in its cornered cafe. He kept up a brisk, natural pace, typically in beat, and was enjoying the (pretty low quality) music filtering directly into his ears.

He was just part-way down his road when he remembered why putting all his music on shuffle was a bad idea.

Wash stopped immediately, and scrambled to grab the player out of his pocket. This new sense of rising urgency also caused him to rip the earphones out of his ears, just so he wouldn't hear more than he had to. His hands trembled while he tried to pause the song, making the whole situation more difficult to stop and control. 

With the sound file paused, he stared at the name, and Wash forced all emotion out of his brain. He briefly wondered why he hadn't deleted it yet, because he knew it was the best thing to do; but rather than delete it, he just removed it from the playlist, so it wouldn't pop up again.

_ Not yet. _

\-------

Wash pushed open the door, and entered into the large store. His earphones were still firmly in his ears, especially now he was in the building; Wash wished to prevent as much human interaction possible.

He headed straight to the aisle that contained pet necessities, but got sidetracked by the observation of some herbal tea. Carolina had told him to buy it, and despite Wash virtually having no knowledge on this subject (he may have been only half listening when Lina was “discussing” the teas), and the fact that he only drank coffee, he started considering which type to buy, depending on the limited information on the packets. 

He was lost in thought when Wash felt a small tug on the hem of his shirt. Startled, he quickly spun on his heel, panic spiking in his mind. He slowly pulled out his earphones as his gaze skimmed around him, and was puzzled to not see any- oh!

His eyes darted down, and he saw a small child with wondrous curly hair hugging a large bag of pasta; that of which had a bold red sticker indicating a deal of “50% more for free!”. 

Wash had no idea what to do.

“Oh, uh, hello.”

The child, who must have been about five or six, waved up to him whilst still holding the pasta close to their chest.

“Can you... not talk?” Wash asked, cautiously, putting away his music device and earphones.

The child gently shook their head, curls gently tapping their face as they moved. Wash frowned. His mind started to link up to past memories, hazy but still always present-

_ No, stop. Be helpful for once in your life; you know- _

Wash glanced around him, and looked back at the child - whom he was still looming over. Wash nor the child seemed to have noticed nor cared, though.

“Ah. Okay. So uh, do you know how to sign?”

The kid’s eyes widened slightly. Quickly, but carefully, they placed the pasta bag on the floor just before signing:

_ "Do you?” _

Wash hadn't thought about signing in a  _ long _ time, so he knew he was going to be rusty, but he was thankful the kid mouthed the words, too. Their face was unusually emotionless when they signed, but Wash just pinned that down to nerves and meeting a tired, towering man.

“A little,” Wash slowly signed back; but he said the words out loud, too. He wasn't sure if the kid was deaf, hard of hearing or not. If they weren't, it’d help with the lack of practise and inevitable mistakes, and if they were, no harm done, right?

The kid’s eyes sparkled, evidently happy they picked the right person. Wash felt a tad uncomfortable by that thought.

_ "I lost my dad because I needed to find pasta, help me find him, please?” _

The kid signed a bit too fast, but Wash noted “father”, and nodded at the mention of pasta. Kids always felt the need to add in unnecessary details, but the kid’s sincerity was charming. And since they asked so nicely, why not? 

“Sure, kid, let’s go find your dad.”

Just as the kid was about to bound away, leading Wash whilst clutching their bag of pasta, they spun around again to quickly sign: _ "Sorry what's your name?” _

_ Oh god. _

With the abrupt change in conversation, Wash forgot to be verbal, and signed: “Do I have to spell my name out?”

The kid showed the smallest of smiles -  _ pretty similar to a smirk, now that I think about it  _ \- and nodded.

Wash let out a sigh as his shoulders sagged. He can't remember the last time he recited the verbal alphabet, nevermind the ASL one.

Very slowly, Wash tried to figure out what his letters were. There were only four, why was it difficult?

The kid seemed very amused, noted by the brightness in their eyes. They were especially entertained when Wash gave up his hand fumbling, and resorted to more generalised hand gestures. 

To onlookers, it looked like a strange game of charades; with a slightly scruffy, broad guy mapping (quite obviously, in Wash’s opinion) the outline of North America and pointing to where Washington is located, and a small child looking blankly up at him.

It then occurred to Wash, that this child may not be as “enthused” in geography as he was, so changed tactics and started scrubbing his arms one at a time, trying to make it look like he was in the shower. He also remembered that the child could at least lip read, so tried to mouth his name, too.

The child suddenly seemed to click on, and started to excitedly fingerspell “Mr” when they faltered, and looked mildly sceptical. As Wash was used to people being conflicted about his name, he just waited for the child to continue. 

They eventually raised an eyebrow, and held one hand out flat, with the other hand’s fingertips closed together, stroking the palm. More of a question, than a statement.

It looked like a way to “wash” someone’s hands, so it was probably that, right?

So Wash nodded, and signed “Weird name, I know.”

The kid broke a small (quite strange) smile, and before Wash could ask their name, they started to hurry off, pasta in hand, probably reminded of their father. Well, Wash can't remember letters too well, and the kid signed a bit too fast anyway, so it was probably for the best.

_ No need to make a greater fool of yourse- _

Wash hurried after the child, who had decided to stop in the middle of a busy aisle. When Wash was right next to them, they grabbed the hem of Wash’s shirt again, but kept a firm hold. The child’s nervousness wasn't unnoticed by Wash; however, the kid obviously really wanted to find their father, so they dragged Wash through the aisles, cleverly using Wash’s size to clear the more crowded areas and move through.

After a small timeframe of searching for this mystery father, the child snapped their head around, evidently having heard something over the hustle and bustle of people.

“-noir!”

The kid quickly turned on their heel, and hurriedly headed back into the centre aisle, with Wash still in tow. Once there, after a few seconds of gazes skimming through the crowd, the child suddenly let go of Wash’s shirt and rushed forwards. At the sudden change, Wash felt a surge of panic, and followed the child, only to see them jump into their father’s embrace.

“Junior! Oh thank god, where the hell have you been?”

The man looked so relieved to see “Junior” again. ( _ So the kid has a name _ .) He brushed the few dreads hanging over his face behind his ear, and held Junior close, briefly. Wash knew what was going to come next, though. The dad was going to yell at his kid for being careless, going off for no reason, and would probably make a big scene, much to the child’s dismay. 

_ I should probably leave now _ . The kid was safe, the dad was relieved, so the work had been done. But Wash didn’t leave. He kept hovering, but instead of making the reunion ( _ more _ ) awkward, he looked off to the side, at a few random shelves nearby, waiting for… something.

“Ah, so you got the pasta? … But you got lost? Okay, buddy, that’s fine. You completed your mission, right? So I’m not mad. C’mere.”

That made Wash glance over.  _ No big scene? What? _ But he quickly looked back at the shelves, staring intensely at the (oh so interesting) prices and deals of glass jars.

“Hm? You got a man to help you find me? Junior, what have I said about stranger danger? You can’t just go around getting strangers’ attention. You were lucky this time, but be careful, yeah, J?”

After a few seconds, the man continued, tone light: “He’s not usually so forward with strangers, what did you do?”

“Huh?” Wash immediately faced the man that was addressing him, suddenly caught off guard. (He noticed the man had very dark, soft, brown eyes.) “Nothing, I - I had earphones in, and was looking at some… drinks.”

“Drinks?” The man frowned. “Like alcohol? J, what were you doing near alcohol?”

“No, no!” Wash quickly interrupted. “My friend recommended I, uh, try some herbal teas, so I was trying to figure out what each one meant.”

“Oh. Never mind then J, sorry about that,” the man laughed softly and ruffled Junior’s hair. “So, uh, thanks for helping J find me, and keeping him company. I can get pretty worried, and I can’t exactly find him easily,” the man looked to the floor and trailed off with a slightly hollow laugh. Wash noticed he hugged Junior a bit closer to him.

“He was no trouble, honestly. He’s a good kid.”

The man looked up at Wash again, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, I know. I’m the luckiest dad, aren’t I, J?” Junior nodded eagerly.

Wash felt his lips slightly curl up at that, too.

“Well then, thanks again, but uh, we’ve got to get going. Good luck on the tea, dude.”

“Yeah, thanks. Bye,” Wash gave a small wave to Junior, and watched the man keep Junior (and the pasta) on his lap as he steered his wheelchair through the small crowd.

_ Huh. _

\-------

Wash had quickly collected and bought the cat food (the large packet again, because god knows Snickers would give Wash a stare down) but ignored the tea. He’d ask Carolina for more information on the different types another day; he felt drained.

He arrived home, and Snickers was immediately meowing and walking around him, eager for him to dish out the food.

“Snickers, really? You know that standing at my feet just makes me go slower. Go wait in the kitchen.”

Snickers meowed, but did as instructed.  _ For once the cat listens. What’s the special occasion? _

Eventually Wash moved into the kitchen with the cat food, and poured some into Snickers’ dish.

“There we go, happy now?” Wash asked, as Snickers practically dove into the bowl. “Stop acting like I starve you, you dramatic cat.”

Wash squatted down comfortably next to his cat.

“You know, Snickers? I actually had an eventful day for once. I met this kid called Junior, who only talked to me through ASL - I’m surprised I remembered as much as I did, to be honest. Lovely kid, though. And he wanted me to help him find his dad. We did find his dad, you’ll be happy to know, and he was a pretty nice guy. I mean, I know I don’t know him... but, I don’t know, Snickers, there was, just, something  _ good _ about him.”

Snickers ignored him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As sign language isn't structured the same way as verbal English, I’ve decided to directly translate what Junior says; partly because I’ve only been attending sign language classes for a short while, so obviously don't have all the terminology yet, and partly because I don't want it to be confusing.  
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Passing thoughts

Tucker’s life was pretty good, being honest. He loved his kid, had people (assholes) who looked out for him, kept him company, and helped him all they could when he faced difficulties. His wheelchair wasn’t that big of an issue, in his opinion, it’s just when society made it a big deal that it got annoying, you know?

Either way, Tucker was just glad to be home after another shitty experience with public transport, and the stress of Junior not really paying attention to his surroundings in the shopping section of their outing.

They were back in the small apartment; all sorts of clutter consistently scattered through the rooms, creating an almost closed, but mainly cosy atmosphere. The blinds were drawn, due to the early sunset, and so the main light source would filter through a dusty beige lampshade that the majority of the rooms possessed.

With the help of Junior, the food and supplies were arranged (sort of) logically in the kitchen. Once he was out of his wheelchair, Tucker dragged his legs up onto the worn-down couch, so he was sitting lengthways, wanting to rest his prickling lower limbs. Junior gently pushed the wheelchair into its designated corner, situated by Tucker’s crutches.

“Thanks, buddy, how was the little adventure today?”

“ _ Okay,”  _ Junior shrugged as he grabbed a toy spaceship from the corner.

“Yeah? How are you feeling?” Tucker asked.

“ _ Tired _ ,” he signed as he climbed onto the couch next to his dad, snuggling up to his side so he wasn't half off the edge. Tucker put his arm around Junior in response, cuddling him closer. 

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, J.” Tucker sighed, though he tried to keep pain out of his voice.

They sat like that for a little while, in a comfortable silence; huddled together with Junior fiddling with his toy and Tucker gently playing with Junior’s curls. 

Abruptly, Junior put down his toy and started wriggling, trying to face his dad a bit better. It was a bit awkward, but Tucker was patient, and quietly waited for Junior to position himself as he thought was best, despite his discomfort.

After trying several uncomfortable positions (ones that mainly included Tucker being used as a chair) Junior eventually decided on a small variation on the first position; where he was still sat similarly to his dad, but his torso was twisted slightly to face Tucker more, and his left knee was digging into Tucker’s side.

“ _ What did you think of the man?” _

“The man? What man?” Tucker’s brow creased.

“ _ The man who helped me find you!”  _ Junior expressed with enthusiasm, a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“Oh,  _ that _ guy,” Tucker said. Then he felt puzzled. “Uh, that he was quiet? Why?”

Junior shrugged, but his eyes told Tucker that he wanted him to continue.

“I really don't know what you want from me, buddy. Like I said, he was quiet, and maybe looked a bit uncomfortable? He was hard to read. What did you think of him?”

“ _ He was nice. Surprised when I asked for help, but nice. _ ” Junior started to smile slightly, “ _ I know his name, too. _ ”

“Yeah?” Tucker asked; he was surprised that he was actually interested.

Junior fingerspelled “Mr”, and held out his palm and brushed the fingers of his other hand against it again, just like he had done late that morning. Straight faced, he mouthed:

“ _ Mr. Soap. _ ”

Tucker burst out laughing.

“Aw dude, are you sure?” He asked between the bubbling laughter, “That’s so stupid, oh my god.”

Junior was grinning widely, now extremely proud of his nickname for the poor man (not that he wasn’t proud before, it’s just parental encouragement’s nice, you know?). Tucker was delighted, happy to attempt to ease the stiffness of his frame with laughter.

“Good job I probably won’t see him again,” Tucker said, as he calmed down, “because I won’t be able to keep a straight face!”

Tucker chuckled, but Junior frowned and looked down at his toy. Tucker found that strange, he was only trying to prolong the fun, but wasn’t able to mull it over due to the sound of the door opening.

“Church? That you? Have you been in at all today?” Tucker called, as he heard rummaging in the kitchen.

“Nope, it’s me. And you should stop leaving your fuckin’ door open.” Grif sighed as he walked into the room and slumped into the single seater.

“Who’re you? My mother? No one’d want to break into this dump.”

“Dude, it’s not breaking in if the door’s practically wide open.”

“Yeah, yeah - wait, is that one of Church’s beers?”

“Maybe,” Grif said, as he cracked the top off and took a swig.

“He’s gonna murder you, dude.”

Grif took another swig. “Hasn’t so far.”

Tucker gave a look of disapproval. Grif sighed.

“Dude I can always get him more, stop worrying. I don’t have any at mine and even if I did, you know Simmons isn’t there.” Grif said. “Hi, lil J.”

Junior looked up from his toy and gave Grif a smile and a wave. Grif smiled back.

“So how’s today been? Anything happened?”

“Well,” Tucker started, “Me an’ Junior went the shop this morning, and he got lost.” Grif gave Junior a side-eye whilst taking a drink, and Junior looked a bit sheepish. “He got this guy to help him find me though, and it was alright in the end.”

“Yeah? Isn’t there a thing about stranger danger, though?”

“I did talk to him about it after, didn’t I, J?” Junior nodded. “But you know he has a good judge of character anyway, and despite seeming a bit distracted, he was a chill guy.”

“Distracted? Like what?”

“I don’t know. He seemed a bit, well, not off, but kinda distant I guess? At first I thought it was because he was uncomfortable for obvious reasons, but I don’t think he actually cares about the wheelchair. He kept eye contact with me as we talked, and just, didn't mention it. Is that a good or a bad sign, d’you think?” 

Grif shrugged, leaving the topic open.

“He was a kind of scruffy dude, wearing this well-worn grey hoodie, but it was really obvious he was just, tired, you know? He seemed, like, hesitant even when I first talked to him, but like I said, I don’t think he meant to be rude, just that he was, well, almost nervous, I guess.”

Tucker stopped himself, and laughed awkwardly. ( _ Did I have to talk about a dude I met for two minutes like a fuckin’ highschooler? Christ.) _ He hadn’t even noticed that Junior had gotten down from the couch and was playing in the corner of the room in the middle of his ramble, and Grif was side-eyeing him.

“What, Grif?”

“Dude, I think you just really wanna get laid.” Grif said.

Tucker felt taken aback; _ (not with “ _ Mr. Soap-suds _ ”, I'm not that desperate, Jesus!) _ so tried to change the subject: “Well I think you should quit bitchin’ about your  _ poor precious Simmons _ being away. Seriously Grif, what’s two more days?”

Grif pulled a face. He slouched further down his seat and brought his beer to his lips, and muttered: “Too long… that's what it is…” He continued to grumble to himself, taking a swig of his beer, and Tucker just smiled, amused.

“But anyway, why was he away again?”

Grif’s eyes flicked up, obviously suspicious.

Tucker held his hands up; “No more teasing, promise. I’ve just forgotten.”

“Well,” Grif sighed, “It’s a business trip.”

“Again?” Tucker asked, surprised.

“Yeah, it’s another one. Third time this month, and it’s only the second week.”

_ That’s rough, Jesus.  _ Tucker thought, but kept quiet to encourage Grif to continue talking.

“Yeah, I know the trips are short, but damn it’s annoying.” Grif muttered. “And because it’s all finance related, Simmons really hates it, too. Like, I know he’s fuckin’ amazing at his job, but the company should just let him work normal hours, and sleep in his own damn house for once. They work him too hard, so we can’t even call before he’s going to sleep. It fucking sucks, dude.”

Tucker looked sympathetic. “Yeah. Doesn’t he have time to text?”

“I text him, keep him updated, but you know what he’s like when he’s working. Damn perfectionist.” Then Grif’s eyes grew soft and fond as he looked nowhere in particular. “I remember when he used to pull all-nighters to give work fast and impress his superiors. I used to yell at him to come nap with me; calling him a stupid kiss-ass.”

Tucker’s smile almost matched Grif’s, but he was able to tone down the sickly sweet look that Grif probably didn’t even know was spread across his features.

“God, it took forever for you guys to finally get together. Remember J? When we used to make bets?”

Junior nodded, but it was pretty obvious that his world-destroying spaceship and prince figure were far more interesting than a grown up conversation. Tucker didn’t mind.

“You- you guys used to bet?” Grif spluttered. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, dude! You two had the biggest goo-goo eyes I’d ever seen, but you guys were both clueless idiots. Me an’ J used to bet with cookies who’d say what first, and when.” Grif’s wide-eyed expression was hilarious, despite it being half-hid behind Grif’s beer, and Tucker had to contain himself from laughing. “I had my bets on Simmons, but J said you’d yell about it by accident in an argument.” 

“...How many cookies did you give him?”

“Like, five big packs of Keebler cookies- the kid drives a hard bargain. And I told you he was a good judge of character.” Tucker smirked.

“Yeah, that’s… scarily accurate. Jesus.”

Conversations rolled around for a while, but eventually each person was left to their own thoughts. Eventually Tucker turned on the TV, flicking mindlessly through the channels, until he gave up and left a shitty sitcom on to occupy his attention. Tucker thought Grif would protest, but when he glanced over, he saw Grif softly snoozing, clutching the empty beer bottle.

Junior was content imagining vivid worlds and integrating his toys into them, but Tucker could tell when his son was more tired than he wanted to let on. He let the TV wash over him, allowing Junior to play and Grif to nap a little longer, but as soon as Junior couldn't stifle his yawns, Tucker knew it was time for bed.

“Grif.” Tucker said, attempting to wake him. “Grif. Grif! ...Ugh. Hey J, wake uncle Grif for me, please? Thanks, buddy.”

Junior nodded and stood up with sleepy movements, but still successfully plodded over to Grif to give him a few pokes.

“...Huh? Oh, hey Junior.” Grif stretched and groaned as he got more accustomed to his more conscious state, blinking harshly for good measure.

“How was your nap, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Shut up Tucker.”

Tucker grinned. “Do me a favour and help put J to bed?”

“Yeah, just gimme a minute. D’you need help too?”

“That’d be great, dude, thanks.”

“Yeah,” Grif said as he pushed himself out of the chair, “no problem.”

Junior put away his toys as Grif asked him to, and followed behind him after Grif pushed the wheelchair for Tucker to use, knowing that Grif would get his clothes ready for him.

Tucker was able to maneuver himself fairly easily into the wheelchair, but he still cursed when he nearly got his foot caught on one of the footrests. Due to his tiredness and slowly rising frustration, getting from the couch to his bedroom took him longer than he’d like, but tried to release his tension when he reached his bed.

As Tucker concentrated on getting onto the bed, he heard the tap running, signifying Junior was in his pjs and was brushing his teeth without a problem. He got into bed without much issue, despite the wheelchair being at a lower level than the mattress, and his legs, but Tucker forced himself to remain calm, he’d done this many times before,  _ there. Could’ve been worse. _

Tucker was dragging his cover across him as Grif walked in, standing just inside the door, waiting for Junior to follow after him. Junior did, rubbing his tired face, and climbed from the bottom of the double bed up to sleep next to his dad.

_ “Night uncle Grif. Night Daddy.” _ Junior sleepily signed, and then snuggled into his dad’s side, hugging his arm.

“Night, Junior.” Grif smiled, whilst Tucker ruffled his son’s hair. He turned to Tucker, “But uh, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The help with Junior was great.” 

“No problem.”

After a brief silence, Grif continued:

“Yeah so uh, I’d better go and check if Simmons is free.”

Tucker nodded, but then thought back. “But didn’t you say -”

“Yeah well, no harm in trying, right?”

Tucker hummed, letting it drop. Grif did need his space, and the couch wasn’t that comfortable.

“Alright dude, see ya whenever.”

“Yeah, later Grif.”

Grif nodded and promptly left the apartment with a small nod. Tucker heard the exact moment he left, as the front door was closed and locked, and a jingle of keys that were grabbed from the kitchen were dropped through the letterbox onto the inside mat.

Tucker left himself wind down from the day, letting his body relax as much as it could on top of his lumpy mattress and with Junior clinging to his arm. His physical exhaustion took a lot out of him, so he was always thankful when Junior went peacefully to bed.

Typically before sleeping, Tucker would try to summarise and reflect on the day just past. Yet, despite the busy day, his thoughts lingered on Junior’s behaviour towards “Mr. Soap suds”, as well as the actual man himself. From what he could remember, the man seemed reserved, but probably not intentionally, going from the surprised reaction he had when Tucker had addressed him. Though amongst other things, the most prominent thing Tucker could remember was that his freckled face and grey eyes seemed to be aged from his exhaustion. 

Tucker could really relate to that, damn. And Tucker drifted to sleep wondering if the man could possibly understand him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


	3. A Second Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so guess who's had this chapter finished in like September but has had their ass kicked by college so forgot to post it,,, yeah sorry lol  
> Also this chapter has been beta read but I have no self control and edited it just before posting so I apologise for any mistakes I've missed!

  
“Are you sure you want that?”

“How many times - I’m not a coffee addict, I just, like to appreciate it. A lot.”

Carolina gave him a knowing look, and gave her money over to the barista as she was handed her lemon balm tea. Wash very nearly pouted as he turned his attention to ordering his drink, getting his usual black coffee blend.

Once they were fitted with their respective beverages, they thanked the cashier and walked out of the comfortable, light atmosphere of the cafe. They both clasped their hot drink with gloved hands near their face, enjoying the warmth of the drinks in the cool, chilly day.

“So the plan is to just wander for a bit?” Carolina asked, adjusting the bag strap on her shoulder.

“Uh- yeah, sounds about right.” Wash replied. 

“Great,” She said, setting her pace at a stroll, following the road in the opposite direction to the apartment complex.

Wash settled into the comfortable pace beside her, taking in the familiar scenery of the sparse trees and stiff stores and minor fast food restaurants. The cafe, called Carino Caffè  , was noticeably out of place compared to the other small businesses, but it brought a charm that Carolina loved (as well as being a rarity that locally sold a selection of teas), so it was a place the two regularly stopped at.

Wash knew what to expect of the path ahead, only thanks to his job, really, but looked forward to the slow progression of more vegetation and less people. He was conscious to wait to sip his coffee, since he was used to the “burn the tongue” ritual, and didn’t feel like embarrassing himself today.

Carolina, on the other hand, had no issue with the temperature and was already sipping her drink. After a few tastes, she turned her head and asked:

“So did you purchase any of the tea I recommended?”

“...No,” Wash drew out the sound, keeping his eyes forward, feeling mildly guilty.

“Well, did you decide which one you wanted to try?”

“I… may not have been listening that closely at the time.”

“Oh, Wash!” Carolina turned to look at him, mildly annoyed. 

“I know, I know. There’s just so  _ many _ though. And when I tried to look yesterday, all the packets just had ridiculous descriptions of taste, not the after effects.”

Carolina sighed, but still retained her excellent posture. 

“Okay, just listen to me now.” Carolina thought for a moment, before beginning: “I have lemon balm tea a lot, which helps concentration and uplifting moods, and is my favourite taste-wise. Ginger tea is a digestive aid, and also helps with nausea, which is… nice but currently irrelevant, I guess. I’d probably recommend chamomile tea for you, to help your insomnia, but you might prefer the taste of peppermint, despite it not being much help to you.”

Wash looked at her, thinking that she must have momentarily forgotten what speaking slowly was. He mentally tried processing it all, and willed himself to remember it. If he forgot again, Carolina would baby him and they'd both be pissed off by the ordeal. 

“Did you get that, Wash?” Carolina looked at him expectantly.

He looked down, the pressure harsh under her gaze. “I... I think.”

Wash could  _ feel _ Carolina rolling her eyes.

“I’ll text you it later.”

“Thanks.”

After a small pause, Carolina said; “I know you think you can't live without coffee, but the teas will help.”

Wash huffed dramatically, “Again, I’m not addicted to coffee.”

Carolina smiled, “The first step is admitting you have a problem,” she teased.

“Good job I don't have a problem then.”

A silence wrapped around the two briefly, so Carolina waited a while to continue, but her tone and pacing turned softer and more cautious.

“On the subject…” Wash just  _ knew _ this wasn't going to be good. “Have you looked at any people?”

“Oh Jesus,” Wash pinched the bridge of his nose; Carolina should really know there’s a time and place. Preferably when he wasn't concentrating on having a very pleasant walk with a very old friend.

“Wash, you should really consider even just a trial-”

“Do we really have to talk about this now?” Wash’s tone turned harsh, impatient.

“It’s not difficult to realise that you’re not coping, Wash. I know it didn't work out for me, but I think it can help you.”

Wash drank some of his coffee, attempting to compose himself. He felt the coffee burn its way down his throat, the harsh taste bubbling down was familiar and strangely calming.

Carolina fiddled with her right earlobe, the dim stud being twisted absentmindedly as she regretted the newly created tension.

Their setting had changed, by this point. The pair had arrived at their local park; the large fields of winter grass and leafless trees were always present in their vision, with tall, bleak buildings fencing the horizon beyond them.

Wash stared at the pavestones as he stepped onward, concentrating on remaining calm, but doing a noticeably poor job.

Carolina saw his scrunched face and stiff walk, and stopped him by easing the now dented coffee cup from wash’s grip and discarded of both their cups in the nearest waste disposal.

She returned and cautiously patted Wash on the shoulder, her face concerned and slightly worn. The moment was vaguely awkward, as neither of them were that good at emotions anyway, but Wash knew it was an apology and appreciated it.

They continued walking through the park, following the path and once again an easy silence slipped around them, but they regained conversation and were chatting easily by the time they started to head home.

On the way back, Carolina mentioned that she would head towards her work just before they got to the apartment complex, because she needed to warm up before a training session with a customer.

When they split paths, the two waved each other goodbye, and Wash saw Carolina vanish round the corner, obviously eager to get to work. Despite the minor hiccup during the trip, Wash felt the outing was a pleasant change, especially as he was seeing Carolina less and less. 

Lost in thought, he mindlessly walked into the front entrance of the complex and went straight to his mailbox, opening it despite knowing how empty it’d be. Wash found his assumption to be correct, and shut it with a sigh. He really shouldn't be this exhausted from a simple outing with a friend. 

He turned around quickly, wanting to have another lazy evening, and almost tripped over.

“Fuck dude, well excuse you- wait… aren't you that guy?”

Wash felt his embarrassment rise to his ears, he should really look where he was going.

Wash looked up, about to quickly apologise, but the man’s words reached his ears as he saw who it was, and for some reason his face didn't calm down as quickly as it usually did. 

“No yeah, you are - the one who helped out J the other day.” The man’s face lit up as he recalled the memory, his smile lopsided yet kind.

“Yeah, and you're the lost dad.” 

“Not anymore, as you can see.” He flashed a grin. “But yeah, you really helped me out the other day, so thanks again.”

“It was no problem, honestly.”

It was a bit of a surprise to run into him again. ( _ Literally. God, I’m an idiot.)  _ What was he doing? And where was his son? He didn't… he didn't live here, did he?

“So, do you live here?”

“Uh yeah,” Wash answered, startled. “Just on the second floor.”

“Dude, really? My place is just down the hall - crazy coincidence, right?”

Wash blinked a few times, that statement catching up with him. “Yeah, small world, I guess.” Well, it wasn't all that unlikely since the shop they met at was fairly local, and Wash was only familiar with Carolina in the complex.

“Well, the name’s Tucker, cool to meet you, neighbor.”

“I’m Wash, and likewise.”

Before he revealed his name, Wash was sure Tucker had a slight glint in his eye, but he was definitely sure he was imagining the slight frown the man gave afterwards, as it was quickly brushed away. 

“Nickname? I know how that is. Tucker is actually my last name, Lavernius is my first.”

“Yeah, it's something like that. David Washington, but just Wash is fine.”

The confused frown came back momentarily, but the man looked away as he tucked a stray dread behind his ear, so Wash assumed it was something else he saw.

“Got it, Wash it is.” Tucker returned his gaze to Wash’s, and Wash felt slightly uncomfortable with the prolonged eye contact, and so failed to maintain it.

And that would be the typical time to excuse himself, and go back to his place and his ungrateful cat, but he couldn't find the suitable words to do so. Instead, with the brief silence becoming too much, he found himself abruptly asking about Tucker’s son.

“So how is, uh, it’s Junior, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tucker smiled at the mention of Junior. “He’s good. He was pumped about his little adventure with you, though.”

“That’s… really nice to hear.”

Wash kicked himself for bringing this up. He wasn't good at returning sentiment, especially not with strangers, so what was he doing? 

“Yeah,” Tucker said, his faint smile unwavering, and so obviously wasn't phased by Wash’s awkwardness. “Speaking of, though, I gotta go check on him, he’s just come back from school so I was just heading home.”

“Oh yeah, right, sorry.” ( _ Stupid, don't get worked up.) _

“No worries, dude, I’ll see you around.” 

“Right. See you.”

Wash gave a slight wave, and the man just grinned and he continued to wheel himself down the hall to his waiting son.

Wash left the entrance of the complex immediately reflecting on how big an idiot he was, especially with his limited social interaction anyway; so he should probably stop making an effort to talk to, well, anyone that wasn’t Carolina. Despite his usual grievances with his cat, he was looking forward to seeing Snickers be a pain in the ass again. And when he walked into his apartment, sure enough, Snickers started meowing loudly at the creaky door.

“Alright, alright, don't worry it’s just me.” He called into his apartment.

He took off his shoes and peeked over the couch; and of course Snickers was staring back up at him, seemingly irritated.

“Did I wake you? Well, it's been a long day so I’d have to move you anyway.” He said as he went to gesture for Snickers to move.

Snickers didn’t even bat an eyelid at the movement, and stayed sat in the extremely comfortable position on the couch cushion. Wash made a faster gesture to scoot Snickers off the space, but ended up with similar results.

“Hey, if you don’t move, I’ll pick you up.” Wash threatened.

For that, and the “grabby hands of doom”, the cat gave Wash a glare, but still remained seated. Wash retaliated with a soft poke to Snickers’ side, but the cat just pushed his hand and finger away with a lazy paw and returned to a comfortable lying down position. 

Wash sighed and gave Snickers a quick scratch behind the ear. “The things you do for a cat.”

He got himself a glass of water from the kitchen and made his way over to his bedroom. He put down his glass on a coaster on his bedside table, and lay down on top of his bed. He took out his phone and started fiddling with apps and looking at spam emails, and less than a minute later he heard his bedroom door creak slightly.

Wash groaned, very loudly and very dramatically, but resigned himself to his fate as he let Snickers jump onto his bed, and then curl up on his chest.

“You’re a goddamn pain in the butt, you know that?” Wash commented, as he lightly stroked Snickers’ soft, dark fur. 

After a small pet-and-owner bonding period, Wash heard his phone buzz next to him, and picked up his phone without disturbing his cat.

  >   16:32: Lina: Get chamomile. It helps with sleep, trust me. You might like peppermint or lemon balm though.

  >   16:33: You: Okay. I’ll go the store tomorrow

  >   16:33: Lina: Text me about brands tomorrow, then. I’ll help.

  >   16:34: You: Thanks

Wash threw his phone to the side, sure that Carolina wouldn’t reply again. When Snickers woke up later on, his plan was to charge his phone, watch TV and maybe make some food. He thought he deserved it after today.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven't given up on this fic! I just kind of fell out of rvb for a bit but I've also started writing side stuff for this AU too so. Thank you for your patience!


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